


things that make it warm

by newoopsy



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Enemies to Lovers, all characters are a little ooc, fencer ji changmin, figure skater choi chanhee, hockey player eric, hockey player hyunjae, hockey player kim sunwoo, kevin is here, not even read through a second time, sorry hyunjae is kinda an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newoopsy/pseuds/newoopsy
Summary: Kim Sunwoo, an ice hockey prodigy, hates asking for help. Promising figure skater Choi Chanhee is preparing for a competition he doesn't feel ready for. Naturally, their paths cross.now playing:Someone to you -Banners
Relationships: Choi Chanhee | New/Kim Sunwoo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from Cavetown - Things that make it warm 
> 
> i have to preface this by saying that i don't know all that much about hockey. I've lived in Canada and read beartown, but that's it. I've done some research, but there is only so much you can google. similarly, Im not a figure skating expert, but i did do it for seven years when i was younger.

Someone was out on the ice, and the slamming of the puck reverberated throughout the stands. Sweat dripped down his face, and under his gloves, his hands were slick and red from exertion. The ice, once clear and smooth, was now full of scrapes and cuts, and tiny piles of snow littered the ground from the rough way the guy skated. Hard and determined, like nothing else mattered. The grip around the stick was strong, and his gaze was focused only on the goal in front of him. A bomb could go off, and he wouldn’t have noticed. 

The someone out on the ice was Kim Sunwoo. He was number nineteen, and he had been practicing for hours already, even though the sun had barely risen over the horizon. Hockey pucks laid scattered on the ice. He kept firing shots. Over and over again. The slamming was rhythmic, practiced. Sunwoo’s breathing was the only other sound in the whole arena. The place was deserted this early in the morning. He knew it was only him and the goal. That was how it had always been. 

Just Kim Sunwoo, number nineteen, and the goal. He played like he was the best because everyone already expected him to be. 

And when you always have to be the best, you never have the time to be yourself.   
  


Sunwoo was wrong. He wasn’t alone in the arena. There was someone sitting in the stands. His fingers were blue – he had forgotten his gloves at home – and his nose was red. With every crack of the puck against the boards down on the ice, the person in the stands grew more and more irritated. 

The person in the stands was Choi Chanhee. He was the only male figure skater in the club, and by this time, he’d usually be out on the ice practicing for hours already. However, today, someone had stolen _his_ timeslot. He pulled his feet up on his seat and stared down at the hockey player. He was good, he supposed, but he wasn’t all that interested in hockey. It was too chaotic and unpredictable. 

It wasn’t like Choi Chanhee hated hockey players; it was just that he had never found any good reasons to _like_ any of them. He barely spoke to them, on the account that none of them particularly liked him all that much. He tapped his knees with his frozen fingers, concentrating on the music in his earbuds. His new program, the one he had been working out with his coach, that she said would take him to nationals. He wasn’t so sure about that. The shining red, digital clock that hangs over the rink ticked ever closer to when Chanhee’s practice with the other figure skaters started, but Chanhee always woke up hours earlier to secure the ice for himself. 

  


The hockey player down on the ice seemingly deemed himself finished because, after a particularly loud bang of the puck, he started to gather the rest of his equipment. Chanhee got up. In a rush, he paced down the concrete stairs to the entrance of the rink. His heart jumped in his chest, but he stopped in the doorway and waited for the guy to notice him. 

He did. The soft whoosh of the skates stopped as the guy halted in the doorway. With his protective gear on, the guy looked enormous. He tried to sidestep Chanhee, and Chanhee mirrored him, albeit not looking the guy in the eyes. 

“The ice was mine today.” His voice carried more than he had feared, and he mustered up the courage to meet the player's eyes. They were so dark. His bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat, and his cheeks were red. For a couple of seconds, the guy just stared back at Chanhee, like he couldn’t comprehend the words. His dark eyes were staring intently at him. He felt a little backed into a corner, although he had been the one doing the confronting. 

“What?” The guy finally said, his voice full of breath. Chanhee moved his gaze quickly, pointing at the sheet on the wall. 

“I reserved the ice for this morning. And like, every other morning.” Someone taking his timeslot had never been an issue before. The guy frowned at him. Blinking beads of sweat from his eyelashes, he squinted at the paper. 

“Choi Chanhee?” He asked, turning back to stare at Chanhee. He nodded, bothered by the intensity of the hockey player’s eyes. 

“Oh fuck, I didn’t even know. I thought you could just come if no one else were here.” He suddenly tried to remove his glove, struggling for a little while. His hands were sweaty and sticking to the inside of the leather. 

Chanhee shrugged, pretending that it was all super chill. “It’s cool,” he said and stepped backward, his mind already in the locker room, tying his skates. “Just, uh, don’t do it again.” 

The guy finally managed to get his glove off and reached it out. Chanhee stopped and stared. For a second, he was confused – the hockey player’s hand was empty – and then he realized that he wanted to shake his hand. Slowly, Chanhee did. 

His hand was big and warm, and Chanhee felt the same warmth on his cheeks, except it was from embarrassment and nervousness, and not hours of practice. 

“I like your hair.” This caught Chanhee off guard, and it took him a moment for him to register what he had said. His hand flew to his hair. It had been many colors over the years, and each time he dyed it, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his parents. Right now, it was a very bright blond. 

“It looks like a cloud,” the hockey player said, and touched his helmet, almost absentmindedly, with his bare hand. Chanhee shrugged, flustered. He was used to the hockey players saying things about him, about his hair, but it was never positive. 

“Thanks, I guess…” Chanhee stared at the ground. “I gotta go, though.” 

He adjusted his bag over his shoulder – the shoulder strap dug into his collar bone uncomfortably – but the hockey player stopped him. 

“Do you come here often?” Chanhee froze. The implication of what he said must have hit the hockey player a moment later because he quickly started to stammer out an explanation. 

“Wait, not like that. Just, do you use the ice often?” Under the helmet, his face was redder than it was a couple of seconds ago. His hands went to his neck, and he looked uncomfortable. 

Chanhee picked at his hoodie sleeve and avoided eye contact. “As often as I can. I’m trying to qualify for nationals next year.” He regretted saying it as soon as he did; he tried to never share his goals. Just in case he didn’t reach them. 

The hockey player raised his eyebrows, shocked. “Wow, in what?” 

Chanhee shuffled a little, showing off his skates through the clear plastic window in his bag. The white, skinny skates were sharpened only earlier that week, and he yearned to just get out on the ice. 

“Figure skating.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know there were any guy figure skaters here. I thought you were a speed skater.” The hockey player leaned backward on the board. Chanhee kicked at the ground, awkward under the guy’s eyes. 

“The speedskaters don’t train here. They’re in arena B,” he said, and before he could help himself, he asks: “Are you new here?” 

The guy cocked his head nodded. “Yeah, I was recruited last season, and I didn’t start before now. I’m a freshman.” 

He was younger than Chanhee. It was hard to believe. Most people found it surprising, but Chanhee was actually quite tall. This guy, however, towered over him. 

“Oh. Well. Welcome.” 

The guy smiled and shifted his stick from one hand to the other. The coldness of the rink was getting to Chanhee, and he balled his hands into fists. 

“Thanks.” He walked past Chanhee and turned in the doorway into the hallways where the locker rooms were. “I’ll see you around.” 

  


Chanhee turned to look at the guy as he walked past him. On his back: Kim, 19 in bold letters. He let his body drop against the wall, knocking his head softly against the plaster. He felt exhausted. 

The hockey players scared Chanhee in a way he’d never been able to explain. The all-encompassing nervousness he felt when they were around had existed for as long as he had been doing figure skating; ever since he’d had to be near them. They were too loud, too mean, too chaotic. Chanhee leaned against the wall until he heard the sound of the ice resurfacer preparing the ice. Practice started soon. 

  
  


The figure skaters had never interested Sunwoo all that much. He didn’t dislike them, but they had always just been in the background, unimportant and trivial. As much a staple of the ice rink as the ice resurfacer and the soft, blue floor. But nothing more. He tilted his head and tried to see what was so interesting about the sport. 

He stood by the door; the figure skating practice was soon over, and hockey practice would start. They were doing… well. They were certainly doing something. Sunwoo wasn’t sure what to make of it. They were spinning with their legs in weird positions. It was impressive, sure. But at the same time, it just looked so boring and preplanned. 

Choi Chanhee stood out among the figure skaters. Not just because he was a guy, but also because he was undeniably the most talented. His moves were the most confident and the most expressive. Sunwoo threw a glance at the clock. Just two more minutes. The other players came shuffling in as they finished putting on the gear and skates. Absentmindedly, Sunwoo tapped his stick against the plexiglass as he watched Chanhee. 

He was doing the same thing over and over. A kind of jump. He kept falling. Sunwoo didn’t blame him; he would’ve probably fallen if he even tried to jump two inches off the ground. Still, Chanhee looked frustrated. But then the clock on the wall jumped up a minute, and the hockey practice begun. The players flooded the ice rink, and Chanhee and the figure skaters disappeared. 

  
  


Practice was hard. It always was. Sunwoo had been recruited in his last year of high school, where he had been the player that brought his team to the national finals in his league. But now he played for an actual team, and suddenly the intensity was cranked up to an 11. He had always been the best player on the ice wherever he played, but now he was surrounded by other guys who had also been the best player on the ice where they came from. 

He told his parents he was doing great. They weren’t interested in hockey when it didn’t directly revolve around their son, and so they didn’t keep up with scores and statistics. If they did, they would’ve seen that their son was falling behind. 

“Kim Sunwoo!” Sunwoo looked up. It was their coach. He had been in the process of removing his skates. The locker rooms were stuffy and hot after practice. 

“Yeah?” Sunwoo stood up, kicking the remaining skate off his foot. He felt stupid. All the other players stared at him, standing in only his socks. 

“Come with me for a second,” the coach said. Sunwoo nodded curtly. He met Eric’s eyes next to him. Eric was the only other player recruited for this season and was also the only person younger than Sunwoo. Eric made a grimace at him and mouthed _“good luck”_. 

  


“What’s wrong?” Sunwoo asked as soon as the door closed behind them to the locker rooms. The coach frowned a little. 

“Listen, I have an idea for you.” The coach rummaged through his coat jacket for something. “You’re a very powerful player, Sunwoo. And I’m impressed by your improvement this season.” 

“…but?” Sunwoo sensed that this wasn’t just about praise. 

“But, there are places where you lack severely, and it’s costing both the team, and your own progress.” 

Sunwoo couldn’t do anything but nod. He was right. 

“I think your main issue is your flow. You’re strong, you can push your way through opponents easily. But you’re not… well, you’re not very graceful. In high school, this forceful play style might have worked alright, but as you can probably tell, you’re not in high school anymore.” 

Sunwoo nodded. “I promise, I can work on it. Just give me some exercises, or something, I’ll stay back after practice. I’ll fix it.” 

The coach wasn’t looking at him. He had found what he was looking for in his pockets; his phone. 

“I think it’s best if you work with someone who knows more about it. I don’t have time to teach you, so I asked one of the figure skaters to help you with your problem.” 

“What? A figure skater? What would she know about hockey?” 

“It’s a guy. His name is… Choi something. He’s really good, and he volunteered himself.” 

Choi Chanhee. Sunwoo raised his eyebrows. 

“Just text him, to see when you can meet. I need you to take this seriously!” The coach added when he saw Sunwoo hesitate. 

“Sir, please. Can’t I work on this myself? I don’t need help.” 

The coach stared at him, before turning his phone screen around so that Sunwoo could see what was written. It was Choi Chanhee’s number. 

“No,” was all he said, and Sunwoo realized he didn’t have a choice in this. 

  
  


The sun was up now, and the hard asphalt under his flat sneakers was just as unfamiliar to him as it always was after practice. Chanhee adjusted his bag. Some of the figure skating girls got into a car, and he waved after them. He’d see them tonight again for some off the ice working out. He fidgeted with his phone, waiting for his ride. He had texted his friend, Changmin, some time ago, asking to be picked up, but he hadn’t gotten an answer yet. He sat down on a ledge by the entrance, and mentally went over his program. 

It was hard. Really hard. Not just the jumps and spins, but also everything in between. It was faster and more dramatic. And then there was the combination jump. A triple lutz triple toe loop triple loop. He could land the jumps individually, but when he had to do them back to back, he kept falling. His whole right side had been white from snow by the end of practice. His teacher believed in him, but he couldn’t see how this would end with him at nationals. He sighed and checked his phone. 

Changmin still hadn’t responded. He called him. No answer. He leaned back until his head hit the brick wall behind him. The sun blinded him, and he closed his eyes. 

He couldn’t call anyone else. He didn’t really have that many friends, and none that he felt comfortable enough with to call out of the blue to come get him like this. He should’ve asked the other girls if they could’ve taken him as well, but now it was too late. Feeling restless, he stood up. There wasn’t any point standing around here. He went back to the changing rooms and put his bag back in his locker. Then he went running. 

  
  


“Choi Chanhee?” Chanhee pulled his earbuds out. He had been running; killing time on the trail in the forest behind the stadium. Now he was sat on the ground, wondering how he was gonna get home. 

“Yeah?” He glanced up. 

A couple of steps away stood the hockey player from this morning. Number nineteen. He stood up quickly, brushing his hands on his jeans. 

“What are you doing on the ground?” Chanhee looked down on himself. He must have looked kind of pathetic sitting all alone on the ground like that. 

“I went running, and now I’m just waiting for my ride.” He glanced at his phone, as if Changmin had suddenly, magically, come back from whatever alternative realm he was in right now. Because he sure as hell wasn’t anywhere on earth. 

“I just wanted to say thank you for wanting to help me with skating with more flow.” 

Chanhee blinked. 

“Oh! You’re Kim Sunwoo?” His teacher had taken him aside this morning and asked him to coach a hockey player called Kim Sunwoo. The request had made him a little nauseous, but he had pushed it down and accepted. “I didn’t know who you were.” 

“Yeah, I’m him. I mean Sunwoo. That’s my name.” The hockey player – Kim Sunwoo – was not as threatening off the ice. They were probably close to the same height, too. Without the gear, it was a lot more believable that he was only a freshman. “But I don’t need your help.” 

“Huh?” Chanhee raised a brow. 

“I just mean, thanks but no thanks. I can do it on my own. I don’t need a figure skater to teach me how to play hockey,” Sunwoo said. Chanhee frowned. 

“I didn’t get the impression that it was optional. Believe me, if I could, I wouldn’t do it either. I would rather practice for the qualification, instead of teaching some hockey player how to skate.” 

Sunwoo scoffed, disbelieving. “I know how to skate.” 

“Then why do you need lessons from me?” 

Sunwoo stared at him. His dark eyes bore into him and made Chanhee cringe a little. He had gone too far. He felt nervous panic rise. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. Sunwoo started to walk away. 

“Listen, I’m sorry. Let’s just meet up and we can see? You don’t have to, but I think it could be a good idea.” 

Sunwoo stopped, but he didn’t turn to look at him. “Fine.” He took out his phone, and a second later, Chanhee’s own phone dinged. “That’s my number. I’ll see you whenever.” 

  
  


“Changmin?” The apartment was quiet. “Hello?” He let the door fall shut behind himself. 

Nothing. Chanhee sighed. His bag dropped down by the door, and he continued into the apartment. He texted Sunwoo, telling him when he was free. He didn’t answer either. He kicked the bottom of the door to Changmin’s room. No sounds. Chanhee willed himself not to panic. He told himself the front door had been locked, so there couldn’t have been a break-in. Changmin must have left on his own. 

Chanhee hated texting people, especially people he didn’t know well. But he felt a sufficient amount of panic by now, and so he texted his other friends, just to check if they had heard from Changmin. 

  


ch: Hey Kevin! Have you spoken to Changmin today? 

kv: Hiii :D No I haven’t

kv: why? 

ch: nothing 

ch: he’s just not home, and he was supposed to get me this morning, but he never showed 

kv: oh no

kv: tell me if you hear from him again 

  


That “if” – however unintentional – made Chanhee even more nervous than before. “if” he heard from his best friend again. “If”. He closed his phone and made cereal with most of his mind occupied by other things. He was so distracted; he didn’t hear the door close. When he felt a presence behind him, he jumped. 

“Oh my god, you scared me!” Changmin was laughing hysterically. “Where the fuck were you?” 

Changmin wiped fake tears from the edges of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he laughed, clearly not very remorseful. “I had to take on a shift at work, and _someone_ took my phone charger, so it was completely dead.” Changmin hopped onto the kitchen counter and took a bite of an apple. Chanhee paused, and then rummaged through his bag. He came back with two, identical phone chargers. Sheepishly, he handed Changmin’s his. 

“Sorry. I got really scared.” Changmin smiled at him, more sympathetic, less manic. 

“Sorry. How did you get home?” 

“Walked.” 

“Did you miss class?” Changmin jumped down from the counter. 

“Duh. I emailed the professor from my phone to explain,” Chanhee said. It was a class that met often. It wouldn’t kill his academic life. But still. 

“I can take you to your afternoon classes, but you’d have to find your own way home again, because practice starts at five,” Changmin offered, and Chanhee gladly accepted. 

  
  


Chanhee’s best friend in the entire universe, was Ji Changmin. Changmin was a fencer and like Chanhee, a student athlete at the university. Changmin was among the best fencers in the country and had competed in national competitions since he was in primary school. He was a rare talent. He was also a little unhinged. In the best ways. 

Chanhee worried too much, and Changmin never worried at all. Chanhee planned ahead, Changmin never looked both ways when crossing the street. They were completely different, and yet neither could function without the other. 

“Also,” Chanhee said. Changmin was watching something on his phone but looked up when Chanhee spoke. “Coach asked me to train one of the hockey players.” 

“A hockey player? Who?” Changmin leaned back in his chair. 

“Kim Sunwoo. He’s new this year.” 

“You’re gonna train Kim Sunwoo?” Changmin fell forward in his chair in glee-filled shock. The chair legs slammed against the tile floor. 

“You know who he is?” Chanhee sat down to eat the rest of his cereal. 

“Everyone knows who Kim Sunwoo is! He’s famous … or infamous, maybe. Everyone said he was going to be the next big thing, and now he’s at the bottom of every ranking.” 

Chanhee stared into his cereal. “I think I’m starting to regret saying yes to this.” 


	2. slow down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **now playing:** falling - _chase atlantic_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! this is the second chapter, and even though I planned for this only to have three chapters, I think it might stretch on a little bit longer. I still hope you enjoy it. If you have any corrections or questions, don't hesitate to reach out.

The ice was cold and empty. The ice resurfacer had left the whole rink wet and shiny, and when Chanhee pushed from the boards and skated across the ice, it left thin lines in the wetness. Sunwoo wasn’t here yet. They had texted briefly last night; it sounded like he was still mad about what Chanhee had said. 

With his earbuds in, he started going through his program in broad strokes, without any actual theatrics or flare. He didn’t attempt the triple lutz, triple toe loop, triple loop. He didn’t want to fall when the ice wasn’t even fully dry. He did the flying camel spin really well, though, and patted himself mentally on the back for it. He was almost through the whole program when he noticed Sunwoo by the edge of the rink and almost fell over in surprise. 

“Hey.” Embarrassment from being seen when he thought he was alone crept up his collar and prickled on the back of his neck. He stopped close to Sunwoo and pulled out his earbuds. “You ready to start?” 

Sunwoo sighed, and kicked at the ice, chipping it slightly. “Sure.” 

“Great.” The awkwardness in the air was almost too much to bear. 

Chanhee made him skate through some cones he placed out on the ice. Sunwoo skated through them relatively well, but he knocked into the last one. 

“You’re too careless,” Chanhee commented and pushed the cones closer together. “Try again.” 

They repeated the exercise, but Chanhee felt Sunwoo grow more and more agitated. He kept huffing and skated sloppily. 

“Why are you here?” Finally, it seemed Sunwoo had had enough. He turned and stared at Chanhee. His dark eyes were narrow. 

“I’m,” Chanhee stammered. “I’m just helping?” It came out meek, like a question. 

“I can do this by myself. I don’t need your help.” 

“That’s not up to you.” 

Sunwoo glared at him. “It’s not helping,” he mumbled. The cones laid scattered around them from Sunwoo knocking them from their places. 

Chanhee pushed himself off the boards, where he had been leaning. “We’ve been here for fifteen minutes, of course, it’s not helping yet. Give it some time. Try again, you keep knocking them over when you go too fast.” 

Sunwoo scowled but tried again. His skates knocked into a couple of the cones, and they slid across the shiny ice. 

“This is fucking stupid.” Sunwoo kicked at the plastic cone closest to him. “I can’t believe I’m wasting my time here.” 

Chanhee rolled his eyes and started to gather up the cones. He stacked them neatly and dropped them carefully over the boards. 

“What are you doing?” Sunwoo asked. Chanhee looked over his shoulder. 

“We’re done. You clearly don’t want to be here, and I have to practice myself.” He picked up his phone and started to scroll through his music library. Sunwoo backed up to lean against the boards. 

“Do you think you can go to nationals?” The question made Chanhee pause. His finger hovered over the play button to his song. 

“I don’t know yet. But if I do well at the next competition, my coach thinks I will.” He felt shy, he hated talking about his goals like this. He didn’t want people to think his goals were too high. He looked over at Sunwoo just as he saw the hockey player brace his arms and lift himself into a sitting position on the board. He nodded at Chanhee. 

“Let me see.” 

“See… what?” 

“See your figure skating dance.” Sunwoo gestured towards the ice. Chanhee grimaced, but he went over to the speakers and plugged his phone in. He let the last part of the previous song play so he had time to get into position. 

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. This was inconsequential, not a competition. His coach wasn’t even here. Just him. And Sunwoo. He closed his eyes as the beginning of his melody began. He let the music take him, through the pirouettes and jumps. He tried to empty his mind. Tried to pretend Sunwoo wasn’t watching. It didn’t matter that anyone was watching. He breathed in through his nose. The combination jump approached. The muscles in his stomach tighten in anticipation. 

He stuck out his leg, let the toe pick connect, felt himself leave the ice. The first jump – the triple lutz - was the easiest. He had the most momentum. The triple toe loop was also doable. He landed the second jump and entered the third jump. The triple loop. Alone, a relatively simple jump, but after the two other jumps, completely impossible. He felt himself lose control, and he fell. 

If this was a competition, he would’ve gotten up and continued. But it was just him. And Sunwoo. He let himself fall completely on his back, and he stared up at the lights fixed to the ceiling far above. The song continued, but Chanhee could feel it as all the drive left his body. 

“Get up!” Sunwoo shouted. Chanhee ignored him. Static ran through his blood. He couldn’t move. 

“What’s the point? I can’t get the jump right.” His own voice sounded a million miles away. He heard a crack and the sound of skates against ice. Then a whoosh of snow was over him. He spluttered and glared up at Sunwoo. He had stopped mere inches from his head, and the impact had shot snow directly into Chanhee’s face. He reached his hand out, and Chanhee let himself be helped up. 

“You’ll catch a cold.” Sunwoo was smiling a little. 

“Yeah, so thanks for all that snow in my face,” Chanhee said. Sunwoo’s smile faltered. Maybe Chanhee had sounded a little too harsh. 

“Listen, doesn’t your practice start soon? Let’s meet up again tomorrow to try again.” Chanhee looked at the clock. It was almost seven am, but he only had afternoon practice today. He had told Changmin to come to get him at seven-thirty. He could go for a quick run before that. Sunwoo nodded, and they exited the rink. Sunwoo waved good-bye, and Chanhee returned it. He swallowed the nervousness in his throat. Maybe this hockey player was all right. If a little stubborn. 

  


Sunwoo pushed harder than he ever had at practice that day. Over the shouts of his coach, the scraping of the skates against the ice, and the crack of the puck, sounded the steady, thundering beat of his heart. Doing exercises with Chanhee just showed him one thing. He could only rely on himself to get better. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need anyone telling him what to do. He just needed to do what he had always done. Push on and believe that he could make it. That was how he had been scouted, and that was how he was going to improve. 

“Fucking watch it!” Lee Jaehyun, number 24. A quick, strong player, he was one of the best on the team. He was a winger, like Sunwoo. He also had a talent for getting on every single nerve in Sunwoo’s body. 

“Stay out of my way,” Sunwoo bit back. Jaehyun stopped, sharp and controlled. 

“What did you say?” Jaehyun stalked towards him. Startled, Sunwoo backed away, feeling his skates slip a little on the ice. Jaehyun was one of the oldest on the team, and he was undeniably the one with the most authority. “I’m not moving for you. If we were all to accommodate you, we’d never get a single goal in. Remember, I’m not the one who needs lessons in hockey from a fucking figure skater.” The words felt like physical slaps to Sunwoo’s cheeks. He clenched his fist around his stick. He was about to retort something when their coach noticed the hold-up. 

“Kim Sunwoo! Lee Jaehyun! Get back to the game!” Jaehyun glowered at him, before skating away. The rest of the practice passed in a haze. 

  


It was true, what Jaehyun had said. He was their weakest link. He knew. He had been the strongest player for so long, he didn’t know how to _not be best_. He didn’t know how to deal with it. He played on. Every part of his body hurt. He couldn’t be the weakest. He couldn’t be anything but the best. 

  


“Choi Chanhee?” The sun had blinded Sunwoo for a second coming out of the ice rink, and when they adjusted, he saw Chanhee sitting on the brick ledge by the entrance. The figure skater looked up. His face was a little red. His nose was red, and his cheeks were red. 

“Yeah?” Chanhee pocketed his phone and stood up. He had looked so small next to Sunwoo on the ice, because of Sunwoo’s gear, but now they looked like they were the same height. 

“How long have you been sitting here?” Sunwoo kicked at some gravel, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hands. Chanhee shrugged. 

“Since your practice started. But my roommate is picking me up at ten.” Sunwoo glanced at the time on his phone screen. It was eight forty-five. 

“Forget that. I’ll take you. You can’t sit here for that long.” 

Sunwoo started to walk towards his car, looking over his shoulder to see if Chanhee was following. He was. 

  


“Thanks,” Chanhee said as soon as he had buckled up. “You didn’t have to.” He looked down, texting someone. 

“It’s nothing.” Sunwoo felt embarrassed. His car wasn’t that old, but he had already bought it second hand. It wasn’t very inviting or pleasant. He didn’t know why it bothered him for Chanhee to see his shit car. 

“What’s, uh, that sound?” Chanhee asked. Sunwoo felt an angry blush creep up his neck. 

“It’s the aircon. I don’t know how to fix it.” Surprisingly, Chanhee sat up, and his hair flopped about. 

“I can get it fixed for you!” Sunwoo glanced at him. 

“No offense, but you don’t look like you know much about cars.” 

“Ouch, but true. I don’t even know how to drive.” Chanhee laughed a little. “But my friend knows a lot about cars. I could ask him to fix it as, you know, payment for taking me home.” 

“You don’t have to do that. Just tell me where you live.” 

“Fine.” Chanhee sounded almost disappointed. He had slumped down in his seat. 

“Why does it matter?” Sunwoo turned his eyes back to the road. 

“I just thought you’d want some help.” Chanhee’s voice was annoyed. 

Sunwoo didn’t answer. Because the truth was that he couldn’t ask for help. 

  


Again, when Chanhee came home, it was to an empty apartment. He turned on the lights in the kitchen and living room and sat down on the sofa. He texted Sunwoo. 

ch: thanks for the ride 

sw: no worries dude 

ch: r you sure you dont want my friend to look at ur aircon? 

ch: its really no problem 

sw: no its okay

ch: sure :) 

ch: but just lmk if you change ur mind 

  


He dropped his phone on the sofa next to him. He knew he had work to do; schoolwork was piling higher and higher every day, but he couldn’t bring himself to start. His mind was on the competition. It was just a month away. Anxiety bubbled in his stomach. He picked at the skin around his fingers. 

It was impossible for him to be ready in that time. He felt so unbelievably underqualified. 

His mind started to spin; all the ways everything could go so very wrong. To calm himself, he put on the tv, and let it hum in the background. He started picking up and placing things down, cleaning the kitchen, trying his best to calm his mind. When he felt he could do something productive without having an anxiety attack, he started drafting an essay that he technically should have started weeks ago. 

  


Hours passed, and Chanhee was woken from his writing trance by the sound of Changmin coming home. He looked over the top of his laptop. Changmin sent him a look, before passing the kitchen to his room. Chanhee frowned, and saved the document, before closing the lid. 

“What happened?” It was well past the time Changmin said he’d be finished with his fencing practice. He heard Changmin in his room for a moment, before he came back out. 

“What’s going on? Didn’t your practice end hours ago?” Chanhee stood up. Changmin shrugged. 

“We stayed back for some extra practice.” He started taking things out of the fridge and cupboards. Chanhee pushed him aside. 

“We?” He asked and added: “I’m making food. You can sit down.” 

“Me and, you know…” Chanhee did not know, and instead cracked eggs over a bowl. When Changmin didn’t elaborate, he looked over his shoulder. He was grinning, a silly, shy grin. 

“What?” The dumb face his friend is wearing makes Chanhee laugh a little. 

This other _guy_. I dunno. Juyeon? I’ve talked about him before, haven’t I?” Changmin’s face was a little red. 

“I think so. Are you guys, like, a thing or what?” At that, Changmin sighed dramatically, and his hands came up to his face. Chanhee mixed the melted butter into the batter. 

“That’s a no?” 

“He is _so straight_. It’s actually painful to me,” Changmin sounded distressed, and laughed, self-pitying, but the sound was muffled by his hands. 

“Oh no,” Chanhee said sympathetically. “Do you think pancakes will cheer you up?” 

Changmin nodded, head still in hands. “Just don’t burn them. You do that sometimes.” 

“I hope all your crushes turn out to be straight.” 

“I was kidding! Your pancakes are amazing!” 

  


The pancakes were great. They ate them mostly in silence, only broken by the occasional small talk. Chanhee loved that they didn’t have to talk all the time, and still be there for each other. Well, most of the time. When Changmin wasn’t at work or hanging out with guys. 

  


The parking lot was almost empty as Changmin’s car rolled up as close to the entrance as possible. 

“I promise I can pick you up today.” Changmin stopped the car. Chanhee squinted at him. 

“You’re one hundred percent sure of that?” Chanhee unbuckled and leaned back to grab his stuff. His bag was hidden under Changmin’s fencing gear. 

“I’m one hundred percent sure. Juyeon isn’t going to be there today. No point sticking around.” 

“Wow. I’ll see you later, then. Answer your phone!” He added. Changmin giggled, and Chanhee closed the car door. 

  


The parking lot had been empty when they came, but another, familiar car pulled up as Changmin left. The ugly, red coating was an eyesore this early in the morning. Chanhee stood on the curb and waited for Sunwoo to park. 

“It’s too early,” Sunwoo complained as he exited the car, which made Chanhee snort. He looked tired. His hair was all over the place, and his face was puffy. It made him look a little less angry, and a little bit more like a disgruntled puppy. It was cute, almost. Chanhee hadn’t realized that hockey players didn’t always look fired up and scary all the time. 

“It’s fine.” Chanhee hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder. The sky was a pretty purple and red, and he stopped to take a picture of it with his phone. 

“How do you wake up this early every day?” Sunwoo’s eyes, usually dark, were squinting against the soft morning light. 

“It get better with practice. Once you get inside, the cold will wake you up.” Chanhee showed Sunwoo the picture he took. Sunwoo stared at it and nodded a little. They started walking. 

“I don’t want to wake up, I want to sleep.” Sunwoo’s grumbling made Chanhee laugh, for some reason. It was endearing in its own, annoying way. 

“By the way,” Sunwoo walked up to be next to Chanhee, “I fixed the aircon.” 

“What? I told you, it wasn’t a problem. I could get it fixed for you.” 

“I didn’t need any help. I fixed it myself. Problem solved.” 

That was Sunwoo, Chanhee was starting to realize. Someone who wouldn’t accept help if his life depended on it. 

“Just go put your skates on quickly.” 

  


The exercises with Sunwoo went as well as Chanhee has expected. Sunwoo got annoyed as soon as Chanhee pointed out where he could improve, and Chanhee got annoyed at Sunwoo being annoyed. 

“Your arms are all over the place. Do like this.” Chanhee demonstrated. Sunwoo mimicked him, halfheartedly. 

“Like this?” 

“No, let me show you.” Chanhee skated up to Sunwoo until he was close enough to see the flecks of gold on the edges of Sunwoo’s irises. Chanhee diverted his eyes and quieted his mind. 

“Like this,” he said, moving Sunwoo’s arms without looking the other in the eyes. “It makes balancing easier. I can’t believe you got this far holding your arms like that.” He joked, his laugh stilted, even to his own ears. Sunwoo reached forward, and before Chanhee could brace himself in any way, Sunwoo pushed him. 

It wasn’t a hard push, and Chanhee would’ve been able to take it if he wasn’t so distracted. He felt his skates slip away from the ice, and in his shock, he cried out. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I thought- I didn’t think-.” Sunwoo was stammering, and Chanhee felt surprised laughter bubble in his chest. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, just caught me off guard.” His heart was beating in his chest from the adrenalin. His laughter seemed to make Sunwoo less worried, because the hockey player smiled, and reached out his hand for Chanhee to grab. 

“I guess you could say you fell for me.” Sunwoo laughed. Chanhee averted his eyes, looking at anything but Sunwoo. The sound of his blood rushing to his face buzzed in his ears. He tried to compose himself; he didn’t know where this sudden embarrassment came from. He grabbed Sunwoo’s hand, feeling a sense of deja-vu. 

“What the hell… What a weird thing to say after you literally push me down.” There was snow covering the backside of his legs and his gloves, which he tried to brush off in the most normal way possible. Sunwoo groaned, throwing his hands up, mock exasperated. 

“It wasn’t on purpose, I thought you were the balance expert. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Sunwoo stared at him. Chanhee scraped the iron of his skate against some snow on the ice. 

“We aren’t being very productive though…” 

“Maybe next time,” Sunwoo said, looking over at Chanhee. 

“Maybe,” Chanhee smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! my twitter is [newoopsy](https://twitter.com/newoopsy)
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-zc8b_tvUU) inspired Chanhee's program, although it's not completely the same,and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=1Si9BpTV_ds) is the jump Chanhee is attempting


End file.
